If for Any Reason (Nantucket Love Story #1) - Courtney Walsh Page 0,142

guys warned.

Grady gritted his teeth.

Jimmy laughed again. “What? You saw what happened in Vermont. He didn’t even finish. Washed-up at thirty, that’s gotta suck.”

He should stand up and walk away. He should pay the waitress, get in his SUV, and keep driving to Colorado, where he could get ready for the next race. He should . . . but he didn’t.

He’d been listening to commentators talk about his skiing, his messy technique, his disregard for the rules for years—but now they’d started using terms like washed-up and retirement, and whenever he heard them, something inside him snapped.

Grady turned toward the table. “You got a problem with me?”

Jimmy’s expression turned smug. “I’m just not a fan, is all. You’re not as great as you think you are.”

Grady reminded himself he didn’t know this guy, didn’t care what he thought. And yet something about Jimmy was really getting under his skin. He looked around for Betsy so he could get his check and leave.

But Jimmy didn’t let up. “We all watched the races the other day. Guy choked. He choked, man.”

“Dude, shut up,” his friend said.

“Supposed to be the fastest guy on the slopes, but my aunt Frieda could’ve skied better than him. In her sleep.”

“You don’t even have an aunt Frieda.” The other guy sounded as irritated with his friend as Grady was. Grady’s knuckles had gone white around the edge of the table.

“Heard he got his girlfriend pregnant and then tried to pay her to keep quiet. Not like he’s got a squeaky-clean image to protect or anything.”

That was it. How that lie had ever picked up steam, Grady didn’t know, but he was sick of hearing it. Grady spun out of his chair and lunged at Jimmy, pulling him out of the booth by his jacket. A plate crashed to the floor, but Grady barely noticed.

Jimmy tried to fight him off, but he was several inches shorter and not half as strong as Grady. Still, he managed to squirm from Grady’s grasp, falling into a table and knocking over more dishes.

The guy didn’t know when to quit. He smirked at Grady. “I forgot you’ve got a temper, too. Is that why nobody wants you on the team?”

Who did this punk kid think he was? Grady didn’t hold back as he hauled off and punched Jimmy square in the jaw. Jimmy’s body shot backward into a wall of framed photos, which shattered when they hit the floor.

Grady stepped back to catch his breath when out of nowhere, Jimmy lunged toward him, catching him off guard and ramming Grady’s body into the long counter on the other side of the diner. He was scrappy, Grady would give him that, but this kid didn’t have nearly the fighting experience Grady did. He’d grown up fighting. He practically enjoyed it. He knew how to handle himself.

Grady wrestled him to the ground, his only focus to keep him there. Jimmy yanked himself from Grady’s grasp and landed a punch across his left eye. Anger welled up inside him as the sting of pain zipped through his body. Grady’s mind spun; long-buried grief demanded to be felt. He had Jimmy’s comments to thank for that.

Washed-up at thirty.

Injuries beyond repair.

Sloppy technique.

Embarrassed. Frustrated. Ashamed.

Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him off Jimmy. Only then did Grady realize he’d unleashed the full force of his rage on the man, who now lay beneath him, bloody and moaning.

He shrugged from the grasp of the person who’d pulled him away and wiped his face on his sleeve. He scanned the diner and found pairs of eyes darting away from him. All but one. The blonde’s. She stood off to the side, unmoving, watching him.

He looked away.

He didn’t need to be judged by Little Miss Goody Two-shoes.

Jimmy’s friends pulled him to his feet as two officers in uniform yanked the front door open. Grady glanced at Betsy, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. He should apologize. He’d made a huge mess of the place. Tables were overturned, at least one of them broken. The glass from the shattered picture frames crunched underneath his feet, and there was at least one place where they’d put a hole in the wall. Oh no, make it two.

He didn’t even remember doing that.

Before he could say anything to the wild-haired waitress (or anyone else), one of the cops—an older man with a wrinkled face—grabbed him by the arm. “You’ll have to come with me, son.”

The other officer did the same to Jimmy, who immediately launched